


The Space Between

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Big Brother Dean, Big Brother Sam, Book of the Damned, Deleted Scene, Episode: s10e18 Book of the Damned, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Charlie, Schmoop, general sweetness, season 10, tag for Book of the Damned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3848452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Bradbury: Queen of Moons, veteran of Oz, honorary Winchester, generally badass. When she gets shot on her mission to find the Book of the Damned, Sam and Dean give her a place to lay low. They meet her there to discuss the book and make sure she's still in one piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

> The minute this didn't happen in the episode I knew I had to write it for myself. I thought with Charlie getting shot checking her wound would be a top priority for the boys so I made that happen. It's a sweet and schmoopy little vignette because I love the three of them together. Enjoy ox
> 
> Insane amounts of love and thanks to my incredible beta @Dancing_Adrift <3

Sam was beyond relieved to follow his brother into Bobby’s old cabin outside Des Moines and see Charlie sitting at the desk. While she was a little paler than he remembered, and in that moment had a post-it note stuck comically to her face from when she had clearly zonked out mid-research - _how very Winchester of her_ , he thought - she looked at least to be more or less in one piece. In all honesty, bullet-wound aside, she was still a great deal healthier looking than when they last parted ways, after Dean had… Well, anyway, she was a sight for sore eyes.

Both Winchesters had hugged her gingerly, being very careful not to put pressure on or upset any wounds. It was too bad, really, because Sam’s inclination was to scoop her up into a hug that left her feet dangling off the floor. Ever since she’d set off in search of the book, Sam had been worrying about her more or less non-stop. Worrying about Charlie was the song playing on repeat in the apartment next door; there was nothing he could do about it and it was always there, maybe in the background, but ever-present and more than occasionally very disconcerting. He couldn’t say how glad he was that she was done galavanting across Europe in search of the damned thing and back where he and Dean could keep an eye on her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t more than proved herself capable - ever since Oz, especially - but he and Dean loved her like family, and he knew his brother would agree that they felt better when she was close, or at the very least on the same continent so they could help if she needed them.

Like right now, for example. As they stood inside the cabin door and jumped right into the business of the book - which Dean readily took to examine while Charlie talked - Sam listened intently, but also took inventory of Charlie’s well being. He noted the lack of color in her cheeks, a new darkness beneath her bright eyes, the way she was putting more weight on one foot than the other as a result of some injury she hadn’t yet disclosed, and how she guarded one side, which Sam was willing to bet was the one with the bullet wound.

Then Sam realized that Charlie had trailed off. He followed her gaze and his eyes landed on his brother. Dean was standing in the middle of the kitchen paging through the book. He was maybe 15 feet from them but somehow he felt as though he was a million miles away, like Sam and Charlie and the cabin had all but faded away. Sam knew the look on his brother’s face. It worried him deep into his bones, quickened his pulse, and got his adrenaline going like he might have to fight for Dean’s life at any moment. Dean was drifting farther and farther from him and Charlie as he stood there, seemingly trapped by the contents of the skin-and-blood tome in his hands. Sam needed to bring him back and he needed to do it now.

“Dean.” Like putting out a life ring, Sam tossed his brother’s name at him firmly. It was a miss. Dean didn’t seem to have even heard him. He tried again. “Dean?” Still nothing. Charlie looked from Dean back up at Sam, eyes wide with obvious concern.

“Dean!” Sam yelled it now, and he was wrestling with some panic of his own when he did.

“What?” Dean suddenly snapped back, barking at Sam like it was purely reflex. Then he took in his surroundings as though it was dawning on him, too, that he really had been as far away as Sam had felt him to be. His briefly irritated expression changed, first to realization and then to worry, maybe resignation; Sam could’ve sworn it even looked like Dean was a little scared. He tried not to let it shake him, but Sam never did well seeing his brave, kick-it-in-the-ass big brother’s eyes laced with fear.  

Dean shut the book warily and gave Sam and Charlie a tight, sad smile. “I don’t think it’s a good idea that I touch this.” He took a few large strides to bring himself to them and hand off the book. For a moment, he seemed hesitant to look either of them in the eyes. “I’ll go get the rest of our crap.”

“Right.” Sam said it aloud, though it was mostly to himself, as Dean turned on the spot and left the cabin for their gear and the other banker’s boxes filled with files that they had brought with them. It did nothing to stave off the feeling in Sam’s stomach, the one that seemed to be growing daily and nagging at him incessantly. He was more and more aware that his desperation was making him willing to do _anything_ to save his brother from his fears; he would do _anything_ to rid him of the Mark and keep him from becoming a demon again.

“What the hell was that?” Charlie’s voice, astonished and a little distressed, brought Sam’s eyes off the back of the door where they’d continued to stare blankly after his brother left. Sam contemplated Charlie a moment before answering. He still marveled at how there was something about Charlie that slipped past all their sturdy Winchester walls and managed to feel comfortable and at home even in their vulnerable places; Sam couldn’t resist being open with Charlie in a way that didn’t come naturally to him with many others, and he knew she had a similar effect on Dean.

“He’s not getting better.” Sam said gravely. “He’s trying to cover, but... We need to find that cure, fast.” Sam swallowed hard as he shared a knowing look with Charlie. She nodded slowly, understanding.

“Well, we better get started th-” Charlie had turned to presumably put the book on the table when she suddenly inhaled sharply, wincing, and dropped it. The book clattered on the cabin floor and she had to brace herself on the desk with one hand while the other flew to her side.

“Whoa, hey, take it easy.” Sam moved closer to Charlie instantly, bending to pick up the book while wrapping his other arm supportively around her. “I know you came back from Oz pretty badass but I’m guessing you’re still pretty new to getting shot, all right? How about…” Sam put the book down on top of the iron case where Dean had left it on the table and started to very gently steer Charlie to the chair that he turned out from the desk for her.  “...You let me take a look at these stitches, check everything is good and tight and make sure it doesn’t look infected, okay?”

Sam sat her down gently, and let his hands give her shoulders a tender squeeze. She let out a shaky breath as the pain eased slightly now that she was still. Charlie looked up at him through dark lashes with eyes that glistened.

“Yeah, okay,” she answered quietly. Sam was relieved. He’d been expecting an argument because he was used to a lifetime of forcing Dean to let him do this, take care of him, but Charlie wasn’t Dean, and she didn’t have anything to prove, least of all to the Winchesters.

“I’m gonna grab our kit, you lose a layer or two,” he smiled at her broadly and she chuckled a little as she began to try and shirk out of her jacket and plaid shirt. The med kit was in the bag Sam had brought in slung over his shoulder and now he rummaged through it to dig it out. When he set it down to open it on the table next to Charlie, she was wincing and hissing, awkwardly moving her one arm out of her sleeves while trying to keep the other relatively still.

“Here, let me…” Sam gestured for her to stop and gently took over the task, pulling off both layers easily without Charlie having to wrestle the sleeves too much.

“Thanks,” she smiled weakly. Sam smiled too, his face soft, and he set her outer garments on the back of the couch. When he turned back to her, his eyes instantly flew to her stomach where a small, dark spot was growing as blood was clearly soaking her tee shirt.

“Charlie, it’s- you’re bleeding.” His brows knit together and he knelt down in front of her, bringing him to her eye level.

“Huh? Oh,” Charlie looked down and grimaced a little when she saw it. “Damn. That’s gonna be a bitch to get out. I love this shirt.”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a Charlie thing to say, and yet it made him think of Dean, too.

“Is it okay if I..?” Sam had moved his hands towards the hem of her shirt, but paused and waited for Charlie’s go ahead. She just tilted her head and looked at him like he was daft for asking, which made him laugh a little, too. He put his hands palms up in front of him. “Hey, just checking!”

Sam took the edge of her tee in his hands and rolled it up gently, revealing a dressing that was almost completely soaked through. He frowned.

“Well, this certainly needs changing, anyway…” He was holding the shirt up with one hand and reaching awkwardly for the med kit with the other, _just_ able to catch the edge of it from where it sat almost out of reach on the table.

“Sam, just, this will be easier if I- here,” Charlie used the arm on her good side to work her other arm out of the little sleeve and scrunched the cotton up on top of her shoulder. It was still half on but exposed all of her tummy and kept the material out of the way so it wouldn’t keep falling down where Sam was working.

Sam was able to use both hands then to pull the open kit off the table and set it down between his knee and his foot on the floor. Then he reached up, and with all the skill of practiced hands and the same tenderness of his gentle eyes, Sam started to peel away the medical tape that was anchoring the soiled gauze to her skin.

The cabin door swung open then. Sam and Charlie turned to see Dean, buried behind two boxes he carried stacked one on top of the other, a duffle slung over his one shoulder, with his head tilted back to keep the top box tucked under his chin. Not able to see much over the cumbersome armful, he turned around and kicked the door closed before making his way to the living area, miraculously avoiding tripping over anything, and set everything down. He dusted off his hands and finally looked over at Sam and Charlie, clearly about to say something but then-

“Whoa, hey, what-” He took in the sight of Charlie looking small on the chair, her shirt rucked up showing part of her black and patterned bra - Dean was _pretty sure_ he could make out Pac-Man from where he was - all of her stomach, and a half-removed dressing that was bright red with new blood. “Charlie…” he drew in a sharp breath as he eyed her wound and came to stand behind Sam.

“Yeah, I’m, um, not exactly Wolverine in the healing department, I guess.” She kind of chuckled but it was with a frown.

Dean stood behind his brother with his arms folded on his chest and watched as Sam finished removing the dressing. A mess of blood was on and around the wound, having seeped and pooled into the bandage. Dean’s frown deepened, and if Sam had been looking at him he would have recognized the signs on his brother’s face that only betrayed his emotions - guilt, remorse, anxiety - because Sam knew him so well. This wasn’t even the first time Dean had seen Charlie so injured, and while it may not have been at his hand this time, they were still the ones who got her into this life. If Dean excelled at anything, it was feeling overly responsible for the bad things that happened to the people he loved.

“Dean, could you-” Sam started.

“Yeah, on it.” Dean cut him off and moved to the kitchen without further instruction. He knew what Sam needed and fetched it quickly. A moment later he was back, both hands full, one with a clean, wet cloth he handed to Sam and the other with a flask of whiskey that he handed to Charlie.

“Drink up, kiddo,” he said gently, apologetic.

“Right,” Charlie took the flask and eyed it a moment, her face screwing up just thinking about the taste of the foul liquid inside. She sighed, took a sip, then tried her best not to cough with the burn.

Sam’s eyes had followed Dean as he handed Charlie the flask and when she had downed a few small gulps, he delicately began wiping at the blood on her stomach. He could feel her tense at the touch but she said nothing and made no sound. When it was all cleaned up he leaned in close to examine it better. The stitches were pretty loose, as though she might have lost the nerve to pull them tight when she knotted them. That wasn’t too bad considering she’d said she’d passed out twice while doing it. Except that, as a result, the edges of the wound had come apart with whatever movement which had led to the bleeding. Sam sighed. He was going to have to redo the stitches.

“How’d I do coach?” Charlie looked at him hopefully.

“Well, they’re not bad. I mean, first time on yourself?” He asked, even though he could tell the answer was yes, and she nodded just as he’d expected.

“They’re, uh, not quite snug enough. It’ll keep bleeding when you move if I don’t fix ‘em up.” Charlie looked a little dejected at Sam’s conclusion, but she nodded again. “Sorry, Charlie. You may wanna keep sipping at that,” he gestured to the flask in her hand and she grimaced but did as he suggested.

“Goddammit,” Dean muttered under his breath as he turned on his heel, dropping his hands to fists at his sides, and started to pace in the open space of the kitchen.

“Dean?” Charlie and Sam looked back at him but Sam could see right away what his brother was thinking and went back to fetching the scissors, thread, and needle out of his kit.

“Those assholes better hope they don’t catch up with us. They’re gonna be sorry they ever laid a hand on you, Charlie. I swear to God…” His momentary flare up of agitation and anger seemed to dissipate as Charlie held his gaze, her expression gentle. After a moment, Dean shook his head a little and turned away, pacing again but not as aggressively.

“Charlie, I’m sorry, but this is probably gonna hurt a bit.” Sam gave her a heads up, as he was ready to get started. She took a deep breath and another swig of whiskey before nodding and turning her head so she wouldn’t be able to watch. She held her chin in her free hand as her elbow rested on the desk.

Sam tried to work quickly. He snipped the knots of the stitches Charlie had put in and pulled them out as smoothly as he could. Charlie was still quiet when he finished the first new stitch, but when he looked up at her after tying it, her face was tight with the pain. Sam could tell she was struggling but didn’t want to show it. He cleared his throat just so, and he heard Dean stop pacing behind him. Charlie’s eyes were still closed, so she didn’t see Sam and Dean exchange knowing looks. After the life they’d shared together, they were able to communicate pretty clearly without even saying a word.

_Look at her, man._ He cocked his head in her direction and Dean’s eyes flitted from his brother’s face to Charlie and back. His shoulders went up and his brows came together as he shrugged.

_What? What am I supposed to do?_

Sam shrugged a little in return but gestured back to Charlie insistently.

_I don’t know. Just, do something._

_All right, all right. Yeesh._

Defeated, though still not sure what he was supposed to do to help, Dean moved closer to where Charlie was sitting. Sam started in on the second stitch and Charlie kept silent but flinched. Seeing her squeeze her eyes shut against the pain, Dean’s heart ached a little and instinct took over. He couldn’t very well pull her into his arms while Sam was working away, but he could still try to help keep her mind somewhere else.

Dean stood behind Charlie and let his hands fall to her shoulders. It seemed to startle her, like she’d been trying to will herself somewhere far away and Dean’s hands brought her back. Charlie blinked and when she looked up over her shoulder he was smiling down at her. He looked apologetic and Charlie wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, because she knew what he must be thinking, but he started to squeeze and rub at her shoulders so instead she closed her eyes again and found herself leaning back into his hands.

Looking up from where he was working, Sam smiled at Dean approvingly.

_See? You got this._

_Yeah, yeah. Shuddup._

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, certainly pleased to help Charlie but begrudging Sam because he wasn’t allowed to be smug about being right - he was still Dean’s little brother, after all.

Sam and Dean kept working in silence, Sam trying to quickly finish the stitches and Dean pressing his thumbs into the base of Charlie’s neck, dragging them down and pushing along her shoulder blades. One moment she was hissing under her breath while Sam tugged the string through to knot it and the next she was humming a little and letting her upper body go lax under Dean’s fingers.

“Y’know, Charlie,” Dean started, “it’s good you’re letting Sam patch you up. He’s been sewing skin together since… God, I don’t know. When was the first time you fixed me up, Sammy? What were you, nine?”

Sam didn’t pause in his work but mentally he started flipping through memories like a rolodex.

“Hm… Yeah, that sounds about right, I think. First time? Must’ve been… that Vetala, d’you remember? It did quite a number on both you and Dad.”

“Nine? Seriously?” Charlie looked between Sam and Dean incredulously, the elder Winchester still rubbing absentmindedly at her shoulders. “Dean, you would’ve been like thirteen; what on Middle Earth were you doing hunting a Vetala?”

Both brothers laughed a little.

“Actually, I hadn’t been hunting it. Dad was pretty good about leaving me to look after Sam then. He was nine, y’know? But uh, he’d been hunting this Vetala. First one, I think. Didn’t know they normally move in pairs. He managed to take out the one he’d been tracking but not until it cut him up pretty bad. Tossed him around, too; broke his ankle. He called me at the motel we were staying at, needed me to come get him. I hotwired the first car I could find and drove like crazy - man, I still remember,” Dean scrubbed a hand over his chin as he chuckled. “I’d never driven all alone before. I white-knuckled it the whole way. My hands were cramped by the time I got to Dad. ‘Course, we thought we were in clear. Dad woulda never called me in if he’d known. But uh, he didn’t. To make a long story short, I got myself a concussion and a nasty gash on my thigh. Woke up in the back of the Impala - man had a damned broken ankle and still managed to gank the other one and cart my sorry ass back to the motel. John friggin’ Winchester. We were both in rough shape. Sammy here was a natural nurse.” Dean grinned and winked at Charlie then, who had been looking up at him with rapt attention, successfully distracted from the pain at her stomach. Sam was shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well, this _nurse_ sewed up both you assholes that night. _And_ helped Dad set his damned ankle, despite the fact that I was completely freaked out. God, you both looked like shit. I remember I heard the Impala pull into the lot and went to window like always, and my stomach just sank. Dad could barely stand, and he was dragging your half-conscious ass out of the back….”

Sam had gone down to both knees sometime while he’d been working and he sat back on his heels now, having tied off the last stitch. Dean was sliding his hands up and down Charlie’s shoulders still, gentle and warming, and she just shook her head in amazement.

“I can’t even imagine. I mean, I know it was how you were raised, but I can’t - you were just kids.”

Dean and Sam shared a familiar look, both wearing half-smiles. It was a sentiment they’d heard before. Sam grabbed a clean dressing from the kit.

“Well, the moral of that story,” Dean continued, putting his grin back on. “Is that even stressed-out, little-kid Sam had a knack for patching up folks, so you’re in good hands.”

She beamed at both of them.

“The best. Thanks, Sam.”

“Of course. No problem, Charlie.” Sam was leaning in close again, carefully applying the new gauze with tape.

“Your hands aren’t half-bad either, Winchester,” Charlie continued, throwing Dean a sly glance over her shoulder.

Dean’s face slid easily into its usual pleased-with-himself smirk. “I uh, dated a masseuse for a week once.”

“Of course you did.” Sam laughed as he stood up and stretched his legs. “At least you picked up something useful,” he added, wagging his eyebrows at his brother. Dean only grinned all the more, looking away as he indulged in a memory or two of the aforementioned masseuse.

“She was this tall blond, all legs, you know? Had a tiny hint of an accent, might’ve been Russian. She was pretty smokin’, but those hands…” Dean hummed a little at the thought and Sam could only roll his eyes and chuckle as Charlie echoed the small sound, obviously not having difficulty imagining. Sam loved the things that Dean and Charlie had in common. Charlie seemed to embody so much of Dean’s lightness without being weighed down by everything Dean had suffered, especially in the last ten years or so. The thought caused a sharp pang of ache to ripple out from the center of his chest.

Dean had heard Charlie’s hum too, and he nodded at her as they shared a knowing look. He patted her shoulder gently to let her know she was good to go if she wanted to get out of the chair. She did stand then, and neither Winchester missed how she swayed a moment when she got to her feet, and the shiver that went through her like a wave, pricking up her skin and rattling her teeth.

“It is actually pretty chilly in here. You get those layers back on, Charlie. I’m going to start a fire for us.” Sam’s hand rested easily on her arm for a moment as he nodded to the shirts where they lay behind her, and then he crossed the room to the hearth.

“Good thinking,” she chattered out. Dean didn’t miss a beat either. From where Sam was now crouched in front of the big fireplace, he watched his brother reach out and start to help Charlie ease her arm on the gimpy side back into her tee shirt. She let him take her wrist in one hand, lift the armhole of her shirt in the other, and gently thread it through, stretching the shirt a little so she didn’t have to contort herself and the stitches could be mostly unaffected.  Sam was lighting some crumbled up old newspaper with his bic while Dean retrieved Charlie’s plaid and jacket from the back of the couch and held them out so she could easily slip them on, still together.

Sam tucked the burning paper in between the kindling and added a couple more logs to the fire for good measure. Charlie and Dean were smiling and laughing their way into the kitchen, and Sam noted the supportive way in which his brother shadowed Charlie, a hand at her back, ready but not touching, no doubt prompted by her unsteadiness from when she first stood. Unsurprisingly, they went straight for the coffee maker. With all the research they had to get through, between the book itself and Charlie’s mysterious stalkers, they would drink more than a pot or two without a doubt. Sam absentmindedly stoked the fledgling flames with the iron poker and let himself enjoy the calm moment, taking in the easy dynamic Charlie brought with her. He would be lying if he said the book didn’t make him uneasy, and certainly he was less than excited to handle its human material, but it was possibly the only thing standing between Dean and his freedom from the Mark. Sam glanced at it where it sat on the desk and sighed. He knew once he started, it would become a dangerously consuming task. He already felt as though his heart and mind were completely preoccupied with thoughts of his brother - how he was doing, how long he could hold on, if there was anything Sam could do, and how in God’s name was he going to save him from this. Given something, even a little wisp of a possibility like this book, Sam was certain he’d be able to focus on little else until he knew either way if he’d get what he needed from the disturbing pages.

Dean’s laugh, the loud, full-body laugh that seemed so rare these days, pulled Sam’s eyes from where they’d been lost in the fire and back to his brother and Charlie at the kitchen counter. He was sad to have missed whatever had been said, but nonetheless he revelled at the sight. Charlie was pointing at Dean, and smothering a laugh with her other hand which did little to hide the open-mouthed smile that spread out from behind it. His brother threw his head back with his own laugh before doubling over forward, bracing his hands on his knees and shaking his head. Dean was wiping his eyes on the back of his hand by they time the fit subsided and he was standing upright again, and with his other hand he was patting Charlie’s arm companionably. Dean reached over her head to go into the cabinet for mugs and she worked under his elbows to find spoons in the drawer. Sam got up from his knee and dusted it off, collected the Book of the Damned and the banker’s box with the texts that might help him translate it, and settled in on the couch. He looked up just as Charlie and Dean joined him in the living room. Charlie had her hands warmly wrapped around her mug. Dean was holding his and Sam’s mugs in the same hand, his fingers tightly looped through both handles, and his free arm wrapped around Charlie’s shoulders to turn her so he could plant a quick kiss on the top of her head. Charlie smiled at Sam as she sat next to him on the couch. Dean put Sam’s coffee down near him on the end table and then doted on Charlie a little. He took and set down her coffee, grabbed a blanket from the arm of the couch and draped it over her, and grabbed the notes she had been working on off the desk to set them next to her before digging into some of the files for himself.

Dean had been taking care of Sam his whole life and watching him tend to Charlie now, Sam couldn’t help but completely admire his big brother. He hoped he knew that Sam didn’t take for granted everything Dean had done for him - not the big things, like trading his soul for Sam’s life, or any of the other times he’d ever pulled a Dean Winchester and put Sam’s well-being before his own, things they had many a time discussed - but the little things when he was growing up: making sure Sam was not only clean and fed but also as comfortable as he could make him given their circumstances, giving him the last bites or the one blanket. While Sam had outgrown the dependencies of childhood, Dean had never outgrown being a big brother, the provider. Dean was still that guy, somehow soft and perhaps surprisingly big hearted, a beautiful juxtaposition to all the bravado, hardness, and often brutal nature of his life. Sam loved that Charlie brought out this side of his brother, especially now, with the Mark so ever-present and making Dean feel so much darker, more violent. Sam felt then that it was more than just nice, having Charlie around. She brought out goodness in both of them, and it was possible that neither of them had ever needed that more than they did right now.

 

 


End file.
